Bang and a Whimper
by Shin Willow
Summary: Xander, now working with Angel in LA to help survivors of the apocalypse, tries to deal with responsibilities and his forced relationship with Angel.


Title: Bang and a Whimper

Author: Shinwillow.

Spoilers: some season 2, a lot of 3.

Category: drama

Rating: R

Summery: Xander, now working with Angel in LA to help survivors of the apocalypse, tries to deal with responsibilities and his forced relationship with Angel.

Authors note: Sort of a play on Pitch Black, but I figure if ever there were Hellmouth worthy creatures, the "Dark Dwellers" fit the bill perfectly. Anyway, I always wondered what might have happened if Xander listened to his friends, and Angel, and went home the night The Zeppo took place. I'm also playing around with the "No one sees me" angle from Potential, which happened to coincide with an original short story I wrote once. Well, thought about writing—I never got past the outline stage.

Warnings: implied character deaths.

Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or Angel.

Xander was sort of waiting for a call, or a knock on the bedroom door he knew wasn't going to come. He wasn't thinking anything. Not about how useless he was to them, he wasn't even nursing a grudge. Which, if you knew him, would have been a huge red flag. He can hold a grudge forever, you know.

Xander lay on his bed listening to the CD player spin Far, reading an old Avengers comic book Jessie lent him a couple of weeks before Buffy arrived in Sunnydale that Xander never got around to returning. Xander knew every letter and picture by heart. He could have recited the whole thing verbatim without so much as glancing at the pages. So Xander wasn't really reading it, the comic was just a way to make it look like he wasn't oddly staring off into space.

He did that a lot. Stare off into the clear blue nothing, or the white ceiling, in this instance. Xander was well aware such behavior is a pretty good indicator he didn't have anything really good going on in his life, especially when the void starts to become entertaining.

All was quiet on the western front, right up until an explosion resounded through the small town of Sunnydale. Xander barely heard the thundering over the tones coming from his CD player. He felt the explosion, though. The concessive wave rattled the foundations of the Harris's house with the force of a small earthquake. Xander dismissed it; he was a Californian born and raised, so not gonna lose control over any bodily functions over a 3.0… 3.5 tops. Then, after a while, an orange light filtered through the curtains covering his bedroom window and caught Xander's eye.

He set Jessie's comic down on the mattress and slid off the bed. _That quake was worse than I thought_, Xander considered, assuming the orange glow was a fire fed by a ruptured gas main. Xander pulled back the curtains and his stomach dropped to his feet. Xander's eyes traveled over canopy of the city, and saw amidst the tract housing and small shops a gigantic blaze burning incandescently against the night sky. A pillar of flames shooting straight up into the sky like a monolith towering menacingly over the town. Emitting no smoke, only fire and molten rock. 

It was the school, Xander thought almost too calmly. Sunnydale High was aflame. The Hellmouth… the Hellmouth opened, and screamed the end of the world.

Bang and a Whimper…

…as far as Xander Harris knew those are the only two ways the world can end. Two years, seven months and nine days ago, the world ended with a bang.

Only Xander never heard the bang.

The streets are bare. It's like a neutron bomb went off and everything with flesh and blood disappeared. Leaving skyscrapers and apartments and cars untouched. Street lamps flickered on by timer as Xander drove down Figeroua. Fig was along the new delivery route Angel gave him, deep into what used to be one of the poorer areas of LA. Angel was hesitant about assigning it because it was farther from the hotel than any of the other routes. Just because the Vyil couldn't get Xander didn't make him completely safe. There were demons around other than the Vyil who also ate human flesh. 

Today could be called extraordinary—almost all the food and supplies had been given out. It was like the Vyil saved the poorer neighborhoods for last, so the people survived a little better. Places like Beverly Hills, on the other hand, are pretty graveyards.

Xander played the truck's CD player with the windows rolled up. The CD belonged to the truck's previous owner. The music was loud, rap, and non-depressing, which Xander was all for. Xander thought about going back to Sunnydale, and soon, while he listened to DMX ask 'What's My Name?' He was getting too comfortable in LA. Xander snorted at that thought. Comfortable living, and working, with *Angel*. Okay, maybe comfortable wasn't the word to describe, but definitely less stressed out. In LA there were safer places to hide for more than a couple of days, and if there are screams from people devoured alive, well, they're too far away to hear.

Night was riding across the land, and Xander scanned the sky. It'd been two years, almost three, and he still expected to see giant worms with jaws wide enough to swallow a grown man whole, swarming in the air turning the sky black with their numbers. He never did. It's a toss up if that's a good thing. 

Xander pulled into the underground parking lot across from Angel's hotel de jour, the dark structure crammed with abandoned vehicles. Some black from layer after layer of settled dust. Some cars weren't so abandoned; the owners never made it out of them. 

The Hyperion was one of only three places in LA considered a reliable sanctuary--if could you make it there, that is. Back before the Vyil invaded a non-violence spell had been placed on the hotel, the Vyil didn't even bother attacking it anymore after hundreds of failed attempts to dine on the refugees huddled inside. Vyil, fortunately, didn't have intellect enough to burn the place down.

Xander got out of the beat-up old pickup and grabbed the remaining supplies from the bed before crossing the street, which like every other street in the world, was skeletal and deathly quiet. He quickly walked toward the solid steel door covering the main entrance of the hotel. Xander knocked a rapid rat-tat-tat on the door, the agreed upon code, and the sentry on guard quickly unlatched a series of heavy-duty deadbolts and opened the door. Xander rushed inside and the sentry shut the door with a loud clang, three bangs of the slide bolts sliding back into place immediately followed. Xander hefted the duffel bags holding the undistributed supplies more securely on his shoulder before stepping down the short flight into the lobby area. About fifty people occupied the Hyperion's lobby, nearly half everyone in residence. Many there openly stared at Xander. He was famous, after all.

After handing off the duffel bags to Anne, Xander went for the stairs. Ignoring the inquisitive (and a few envious) stares. Normally, he could handle being gawked at; he would have gone to the kitchen fixed himself up a sandwich, grabbed a soda and gone back to playfully flirted with Anne. But today he was a little too curtailed by the reality outside the hotel. 

The people he delivered to were starving, and entirely too grateful for their allotted five packs of army rations, a loaf of sliced bread, two gallons of purified water and toiletries. Not enough to last two people more than a few days, but entire families eagerly accepted what meager offerings Xander brought them. It was disheartening. And what about the people Xander didn't find? They either starved to death, or died taking suicidal trips outside their places of safety to find enough to keep their families alive one more day.

Those people down in the lobby believed Xander had an advantage, that he was safe. And they were right. But none of them understood what it truly meant to be unseen by the Vyil. They didn't know he had nightmares about his parents getting eaten right before his eyes by things he couldn't see, couldn't fight, while his mother screamed for help right up until her head exploded between invisible jaws. They didn't understand that one day, after all the food ran out, or the Vyil finally got everybody, Xander would be the last human being on Earth. Left alone in a world crawling with Vyil and demons the Vyil were too finicky to eat.

Xander's room was on the top floor of the hotel. It was the only floor with available rooms. Back when the Vyil attacked the hotel, they tried to get in from the roof most of the time, and banged into the barrier for hours. Xander was told people still heard Vyil hunting packs fly over the hotel, growling and snarling in search of prey when they were on the top floor.

After turning on the lamps resting on the night stands on either side of his bed, Xander walked into the bathroom and took a quick shower--a luxury he afforded himself whenever possible. Unlike Sunnydale, a few areas in LA had functioning water and power. The Hyperion was lucky enough to reside in one of those areas. Though no one knew how long the good fortune would last. The city, the state, the world was falling apart slowly, with the sad inevitability of a terminal cancer patient.

After drying off—leaving his dark hair to air dry—Xander changed into a white T-shirt and gray sweat pants. Xander lay down on his bed and grabbed the book he was in the middle of from under his pillow. The Hyperion possessed an impressive amount of personal reading. Besides being terrified and tired and hungry all the time, the Hyperion's refugees were going stir crazy with nothing to occupy their attentions. They had TVs and video players and the electricity to power them, but the Vyil homed in on sound almost as well as they did smell, so the residents stuck to quieter activities.

Xander's hair was thoroughly dry by the time a polite knock sounded on his door. Xander bookmarked the page he was on before setting the book down on the mattress beside him. He called out come in, and to his surprise, Angel entered the room. The vampire wore a T-shirt similar to Xander's, but stayed in vampire regulation by wearing black slacks and black shoes. Xander and Angel had inhabited the same building for nearly three months, and given the situation, gotten along fairly well. But this was the first time Angel ever came up to his room. 

"Xander." Yeah, Angel's still Mr. Conversationalist.

"What's up?" Xander asked, sitting up and resting his back on the headboard.

Angel shut the door and stood in front of it, his pale face drawn and haggard. Despite his immortality, Angel looked like he was aging a year for every month that passed. It bothered Xander to see Angel look run down, old, even. It reminded him the vampire wasn't all the way impervious to death. Just more so than most. It also bothered Xander he didn't look as beaten down as Angel. No new lines etched in his youthful face from crushing loss, or worry. Xander saw in the mirror the same face he had before the world ended. 

"There were supplies left over?"

Xander knitted his eyebrows together and nodded. He waited silently for Angel to get to the point of his question, whatever half-witted thing it was. Xander expected Angel to criticize him for not looking harder for people to help, and readied a barrage of insults. Because Xander felt guilty enough about it, and he'd be damned before he let Angel make him feel worse for a second. Three months working close-like didn't earn Angel that kind of power.

Angel lifted his hand and ran it down his face and cursed quietly. He looked at Xander with a pained expression, and he said, "There are so few left, aren't there." Angel wasn't asking a question. "So few..." Angel's eyes were getting watery and his voice thin. The last time Xander saw Angel this way, the guy was on the verge of crying. _Oh, god! _Xander' eyes flitted around the room, searching for a convenient escape route. He can do without watching Angel break down again, thank you much! But then Angel cleared his throat and blinked away the moistness from his eyes. Xander's urge to flee the scene lessened. 

"Are you...?" Angel started, taking a few tentative steps towards Xander's bed. "I know it's hard, you know, going out," Angel turned his face to the armor-plated window, "there--"

"No, it's not easy finding people who don't want to be found, Angel," Xander broke in, sensing the finger pointing session coming. And he wasn't having any part of that. "And I'm not running home with my tail between my legs when I don't turn up something! I'm trying, okay? So take your 'You're fucking up again, Xander' routine elsewhere."

Breathing heavily after that brief tirade, Xander stared hard at Angel. Angel stared back, his expression static. If he thought that blank thing he does with his face was going to intimidate Xander… not gonna happen. Uh-uh.

"Xander," Angel finally said, his face now a map of gentleness, "thank you. For everything you've done for the people here. I should have said it sooner. Especially if you think I don't thank the Powers I *hate* everyday you're here."

Xander felt like Cletus, the Slack-jawed Yokel at this point. Angel... Angel was grateful he was here? Since when? Xander regained control over his mouth and worked his face into an expression reflecting the disbelief he felt.

"I mean it," Angel said reading Xander's doubtful expression.

Xander interlocked his fingers together over his stomach and lowered his chin close to his chest, looking at Angel through narrowed eyes. "Yeah, I bet there's a song in your heart and an extra spring to your step whenever you think of me."

"Xander, why are you…" Angel false-started again, looking like the Irritated Angel of Old Xander knew and made fun of at every turn. Then Angel's released his frustration with a sighing breath. "I don't know about you, Xander, but these past few months working together," Angel laughed, the sound stunning Xander more than if Angel flapped his arms, clucked, and declared himself a chicken. "Working together, yeah, I do a bunch." Angel shook his head. "What I should say is, these past few months I've been depending on you, how can you still hold on to all that crap from Sunnydale? 'Cause I gotta be honest with you, I can't afford to myself. I don't want to."

Xander turned his face away from Angel's bare, earnest expression. Angry—furious—Angel once again said the perfect thing to make him feel like a petty little turd. _No, I'm not going to let Angel make me feel like this_, Xander thought, shaking with resentment. _Like he meant anything he just said anyway_. "I think I'm gonna hit the hay, Angel. See ya 'round," Xander said without looking at the vampire.

"Christ, Xander! What the hell is the matter with you! She's dead! Buffy's dead, what's there left to hate me for?" Angel erupted.

Xander untangled his fingers and slammed his fists down on the mattress on either side of his thighs. His gaze shooting in Angel's direction. "Plenty! And stop pretending you don't hate me, too, 'cause, seriously…"

"I don't hate you. Never did, regardless of what you might think. You were, what? Fifteen? Sixteen? A punk kid who didn't know what he was talking about half the time and constantly in over his head. Just a child."

Xander grinned, folded his arms over his chest. "But if you didn't see me around, like, ever, not a big negative, huh?"

Angel blinked then looked at the carpet and shook his head. "How can you act like this?" Angel looked up again and pinned Xander with eyes filled with utter defeat. Xander felt that turd-like feeling run through him again. "There are men and women and their children who count on you, whose lives you save every single day and you won't…" Angel's words trailed off and he shook his head again before he turned away. "Good night, Xander," Angel said and left Xander alone, staring at the closed door.

Angel's unspoken words, the ones he was too fed up to say, echoed tauntingly through his mind. 

__

Grow up.


End file.
